Dark Knights
by The Professor of Writing
Summary: One lonely child. One ancient sorcerer. One young girl. One MOTHER of a problem
1. Chapter 1: Prophecies

**Hi guys The Professor of Writing is back!**

**First: I do not own any of these characters, except the OC of Diviner Sight and a few cameos.**

**Second: No flaming please! I have Nine books to get through to finish this series, and would really appreciate it if I didn't have people going **_**"Oh this is so shit, go die in a hole"**_** etc.**

**And with that, on with the story.**

**CHAPTER 1: PROPHECIES**

SEVERAL MILES SOUTH OF DUBLIN JULY 1833

A tall, semi-attractive woman seemingly in her late 40's entered a dark, moist chamber. She had dark hair, fair skin and deep brown eyes. She had a boxers build, but feline grace. Her name was Diviner Sight, a mage with the ability to see into the future. She closed her eyes, and began to look to the future. After a few minutes, her brow furrowed, and she gasped with slight pain, which in turn became an anguished cry. Her son, Ghastly Bespoke ran in. Ghastly was of medium height and looked like he was in his early 20's, and with the same build as his mother, but he had a very distinguishing feature. Before he was born, he was cursed so that his head was covered in deep, ridged scars.

"Mother," he cried, "what's wrong?"

His mother looked at him gravely. "I believe I just witnessed the next Great Prophecy." She stated.

Ghastly's mouth opened in shock. A Great Prophecy was extremely rare, and a Psychic was very lucky-or unlucky- to witness one in their lifetime.

"What was it about?"

His mother took a deep breath, "It was either the beginning, or the end."

"What do you mean?"

"There will be a very powerful sorcerer, maybe one to rival Lord Vile himself, and her name shall be Darquesse. Ghastly, she will know her _true name_! She will try to bring about the end of all things, but some will try to stop her, shining knights, heroes if you will."

"And their names?"

"Hidden, my son. Hidden even from us Sensitives."

Ghastly took a deep breath, "If it was a Great Prophecy, you need to write it down, and tell The Sanctuary."

"I don't know who to trust. Except Meritorious. And Morwenna Crow. And Sagacious Tome. And-"

"That's OK Mother, just survive the war, and we can settle this afterwards. Right?" Ghastly said. As soon he said this however, the blood drained from her face. "Mother, are you all right?" she didn't answer.

GOTHAM MARCH 1999

Bruce Wayne a tall 10 year old with black hair and light blue eyes was with his parents leaving the Gotham Theatre after watching three hours of so-called acting. Bruce found the only convincing part was when the hero and heroine of the production fell on top of each other. As they walked down a dark, damp alleyway, a thug leapt down at them from the roof. He was tall, but not of too good a build. Bruce, backed away with his mother, Martha Wayne was tall, and brown haired, with blue eyes like her son's. Dr. Thomas Wayne, Bruce's father, was a tall, black haired individual, and had made himself a multi-billionare on his Grandfather's legacy. The thug grinned and motioned for Thomas to hand over his money.

"Look, we don't want any trouble." Martha said.

The thug smiled wider. "Tough luck honey." He clicked his fingers and he must have had lighters in his sleeve, because his _hands caught fire_! He threw the fire at Martha, and splayed his hand. The air _rippled_ and flung Bruce backwards. He whipped out a gun and quickly shot Thomas, who was getting out his phone to call the cops. Then he whirled on Martha snarling.

"NO!" Bruce cried, but he was too late. There was a loud crack and Martha Wayne fell to the ground, blood spurting from her chest. The thug rounded on Bruce but was flung backwards. He hit the ground and rolled. A man dropped from the top of the building on the right, between Bruce and the thug. The thug raised his gun, but the man jabbed his bicep, numbing the arm so the thug could not fire.

"Pleasant." The thug spat.

"And it's a pleasure to finally meet you too." replied the man, in a voice as smooth as velvet. Then he too splayed his hand and the thug was thrown backwards, his skull colliding with the brick wall behind him with a sickening CRACK.

The tall man turned, and Bruce had a good look at him for the first time. He almost recoiled. Where the man's face should have been, there was just a skull.

"Whuh?" asked Bruce.

"Yeah I, know, it's kind of unnerving, but you'll get used to it after a while. Not that you'll see me ever again. Or even remember this encounter. Actually you're a kid so I'll let you off." Bruce didn't like the skeleton. He talked too much. Bruce had just lost his last remaining family (not counting Alfred Pennyworth, the butler) and all this skeleton was doing was chatting. Bruce turned and walked away, anger burning through him.

"Hey," called the skeleton, "Hey, I'm sorry. I just got carried away. Where are you going?"

"My house." Bruce snapped, "Leave me ALONE!" he hadn't meant to shout, but it came out anyway. "GO AWAY. WHY ARE YOU HERE? CAN'T YOU SEE THAT MY PARENTS JUST GOT _KILLED_ AND YOU'RE JUST GOING TO BUG ME FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE? WHY CAN'T I JUST LEAVE IN PEACE!"

And with that he turned and ran and the skeleton just stood and let him go.


	2. Chapter 2: What Happened To Gordon?

**CHAPTER 2: What Happened To Gordon?**

GOTHAM 8th JULY 2013

Bruce Wayne strolled into his hallway. Now 24, strongly built, still tall, and a strand of black hair flopping over his face, he'd made a success in life. Aside from the _incident_ when he was ten, his life had gone really smoothly. At the age of 19 he had inherited the Wayne fortune and had taken over as CEO of Wayne Enterprises. He thought back to the night his parents were killed, and remembered the oath he had taken over their graves.

_The rain beat down on the funeral. Bruce knelt before the gravestones._

"_I'm sorry Mom, Dad." He murmured quietly so that no-one else heard. "I couldn't stop him. Not yet. But I promise to you, I __will not__ let something like this ever happen again. Not on my watch." He looked up and saw the tall man who had saved him, and regretted not making an apology to him for the night where he had beaten the thug. As he left the funeral, he saw the man, and walked up to him._

"_Uh-hi." He said awkwardly, "Look, I'm sorry about that night, y'know yelling at you and all."_

"_It's nothing personal I'm sure." Replied the man. "I didn't quite catch your name." his voice carried a strong Irish accent._

"_Bruce," said Bruce. "Bruce Wayne."_

"_My name is Skulduggery Pleasant." The skeleton replied holding out his hand. "I'm sorry for not being on point earlier."_

"_Accepted" said Bruce taking it.._

Bruce remembered it as if it were yesterday. He walked into the lift and pressed 'B' for basement. As he arrived he walked out and keyed in a passcode on a hidden codelock. It opened and there was another lift. He stepped in, and he descended slowly, to an area only he and Alfred knew about. The door opened and Bruce stepped out. He marvelled, as usual, at the amazing stalactites of the cave. He walked up to a large computer and said: "Computer, search all references on keywords: Living Skeleton, Magic and Skulduggery Pleasant."

The computer came up with several thousand entries; Bruce sifted through them faster than almost any other man could. Finally he settled upon one that caught his eye. It was by a man who was dismissed as a nut. Bruce also noted that it was an article in _The Dublin Times_. "An Irish newspaper." he murmured.

He sped-read it, and settled upon a part where it said that the writer (a man by the name of Kenny Dunne) claimed to have witnessed several men throw fire. Bruce smiled. He walked into a side room, and pressed a few keys. A section of the rock opened up like a door, and Bruce looked upon one of his most prized possessions. A pure black bodysuit made of a Kevlar-like-material, with a cowl with sharp, angular features, pointed ears, and a cape made of a material similar to nylon, but became taut to whatever shape he decided when introduced to a little electricity. The gloves had curved, sharp, blade-like instruments on them and there was a bat design on the chest. The belt around the middle carried dozens of tiny gadgets such as smoke grenades, grapple lines, mini Tasers, bat-shaped _Shurikens_ and other paraphernalia. He called it The Bat-suit. He quickly suited up, his face half covered by the cowl, the one-way slits for eyes looking perfectly white. He looked again at where the most recent Pleasant sighting had been, and a ghost of a smile crossed his features. He left a note to Alfred saying he had gone to stay at Gordon Edgely's house near Haggard in Ireland, as they were old friends and leapt into a high-tech jet, before speeding off at supersonic speeds.

HAGGARD 23rd JULY 2013

12 year old Stephanie Edgely rolled out of bed with bloodshot eyes, red from crying the night before. Her uncle, Gordon had just died and he was almost as important to her as her parents. She walked over to the full length mirror and looked in. a tall-ish girl with jet black hair and chestnut eyes stared back at her.

She walked downstairs despondently. Her father, Desmond was sitting at the table, a glum frown over his usually bright face. He was tall and handsome, she guessed, with dark brown eyes and floppy brown hair. He was about 30, and hadn't shaved since he heard about his oldest brother's demise. His wife, Melissa walked in. She was tall, like her husband and daughter, and had gifted the latter with her slender frame, jet black hair, and good looks.

"Des, dear, don't just sit there," she admonished her slow witted husband, "put your trousers on. We've got the will reading in half an hour. We need to be there promptly."

Desmond slowly got up and plodded up the stairs. Ten seconds later he came down and whined: "Do we have to go. I mean Fergus and Beryl are going, so maybe-"

"Desmond." Melissa said sharply. "Are you saying that you don't want to go to your own brother's will reading? What if you get something? Do you want them to give it to Fergus and Beryl instead?

Desmond grumbled and went to get changed. 20 minutes later they were at the will reading.

Mr Fedgewick, the old man who was reading the will behind the desk got out the will slowly, and cleared his throat. This took several minutes, so Stephanie took the opportunity to have a look around at their compatriots at the reading. There was Beryl and Fergus, of course, Stephanie's aunt and uncle. Fergus was a small, ugly, wet man. He looked repulsive, smelled repulsive and gave off a general air of repulsiveness. Beryl on the other hand was tall, imposing, and confident. However she gave off the same amount of repulsiveness, no matter how much cheap perfume she used to mask it. Stephanie noticed that the Toxic Twins-Carol and Crystal-Fergus and Beryl's children weren't there. There was Gordon's lawyer, his friend, the world famous business man Bruce Wayne Stephanie blushed when he looked at her and smiled, and a tall, skinny man she had seen at the funeral. He wore sunglasses, gloves and a scarf around his face even though it was summer and stuffy inside the reading room.

Finally the old man finished clearing his throat and began:

"Well then, now that we're all here, we may begin; to my dear little brother, Fergus," Stephanie smirked. Even in death, Uncle Gordon had his usual sense of sarcasm. He had _never_ referred to Fergus as 'dear', "I leave you and your beautiful wife Beryl"-again more sarcasm-"my boat, my car and my brooch." The lawyer produced a key to a boat, and a small brooch. Beryl whined loudly. There weren't evenany jewels on it. "To Des," Mr Fedgewick carried on, "I leave you Melissa, your wife you lucky bugger, and my villa in France, and all the furniture therein. To my good friend Bruce Wayne, I leave you my shares in the publishing business, and hope you put them to good use. To my other good friend, Skulduggery Pleasant, I leave a piece of advice: Your path is your own, and I have no wish to sway you, but sometimes the greatest enemy we can face is ourselves, and the greatest battle is against the darkness within. There is a storm coming, and sometimes the key to safe harbour is hidden from us, and sometimes it is right before our eyes." Skulduggery nodded slowly at that, "And to my favourite niece Stephanie, I leave my house, money and estate, to be claimed when you turn eighteen."

At this last sentence, there was utter silence. Beryl stood open mouthed for a few minutes. Fergus dripped. Melissa and Desmond slowly started grinning. Bruce Wayne came over and shook her hand, smiling. The other man, Skulduggery, just stood there, silent. Finally Beryl found her voice.

"WHAT, HER?" she screeched, "HOW-WHAT-JUST-ARRGGHH!"

She left the room, five minutes later, still shouting. Stephanie could only smile faintly and wonder: why her?

OUTSIDE THE WILL READING A FEW MINUTES LATER

Bruce Wayne walked round the back of the building, following the skeleton. He followed him to a beautiful black 1954 Bentley R-Type Continental, one of the 208 ever made, and crept up behind him.

"You know, not many can follow me." Said the skeleton coolly, spinning slowly round to face Bruce. "My my, Bruce, haven't you grown."

Bruce grunted and said, "OK Pleasant, where is Gordon."

"Ah."

"Yes." Bruce almost snarled, "People of his age don't just drop dead. He was murdered."

"Yes, funny you should say that actually, in fact I was just about to investigate-"

"WHO KILLED GORDON EDGELY" Bruce roared in a gravelly voice.

"Ssh," Pleasant whispered "keep it down. Someone might hear you, and investigate."

Bruce huffed. "I've got my eye on you, skeleton."

Skulduggery, to his credit, just doffed his hat, climbed into the Bentley and drove off.


End file.
